


Hitchin' A Ride

by girlintheglen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 10:30:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1601639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlintheglen/pseuds/girlintheglen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stranded in the desert, the agents and one disgruntled showgirl are in need of a ride.  Written for Section VII What's My LIne? challenge on LJ.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hitchin' A Ride

Three people walking along a dusty road near Needles, California were close to dropping down onto the hot pavement. In the darkness they each imagined waves of heat coming off the blacktop as each labored step took them closer to nothing they could identify.

“Illya, are we getting any closer to civilization?” A rag was tied around Napoleon Solo’s head, whether originally in response to an injury or a need to stop the sweat from dripping into his eyes, it was difficult to tell. A tall woman walked alongside him, the heels on her shoes gone now as she hobbled along with one arm linked to the American.

“How should I know? If you had not seen fit to use our map to set fire to that satrapy then perhaps we might...” Kuryakin was cut off with a rude gesture from his partner.

“All right already. Right now not having a map is the least of our troubles, don’t you think.’ The Russian waved him off as though he were swatting at an annoying insect.

“Anyway, if you hadn’t run our car into a ditch...” That stopped Illya dead in his tracks. Perhaps that was too much, after all the ditch came as a result of a bullet finding the blond agent as he drove away from the smoldering THRUSH satrapy.

“Okay, I’m... well, that’s all of that. We’re here now and we need a car or truck... anything to get us out of this desert and back to civilization.” Napoleon looked at the woman and heaved another big sigh. Imogene DeLillo was the girlfriend of the THRUSH chief still sorting through the ashes of his satrapy. The willowy blonde was looking for a way out of a relationship that had promised a life full of luxury and glamour, only to be stuck in the desert with a man twice her age and half as good looking. Promises were useless.

When Imogene laid eyes on Napoleon she started planning her escape with the handsome agent. When the Russian showed up as well, the former Vegas showgirl started thinking perhaps she really had hit the jackpot. Two handsome men with the ability to get her away from Action Jackson, the sorriest excuse for a high roller she’d ever met. Imogene had been wined and dined by a lot of men, and Jackson had looked promising right up until he dragged her to his glorified quanset hut at the very end of Las Vegas Avenue; the wrong end.

What Action Jackson Bruni had hoped would transform into a luxurious Vegas casino was nothing more than a shoddy building equipped with THRUSH equipment barely capable of listening in on his neighbor’s business. Solo and Kuryakin had been sent in to investigate and destroy whatever they found, barring any damage to surrounding buildings and businesses.

Thinking back on it now, each of them had different reasons for the actions he or she had taken. Kuryakin was in charge of planting explosives and had done his usual excellent job of it. When the fireworks started there was no doubt the building was doomed. Napoleon had snatched the meager intelligence Jackson had managed to cypher off of his competition, for all the good it would have done him. He wasn’t equipped to run a big time casino, and THRUSH had sent the wrong man in with the misguided judgement that Vegas wasn’t going to be as profitable as, say a casino in the Caribbean. Unfortunately, Solo had started a fire before the explosions were set to go off. Something about a map and a cigarette lighter... everything was a little unclear at the moment.

Imogene just wanted out. She latched onto Napoleon the instant she saw him, not only because he was handsome and suave, words that had never been directed towards Action Jackson; Solo was her way out of this god forsaken desert and all of the pithy, dusty people she had to deal with. She was leaving Vegas for good.

The trio had managed to snag a car with keys hanging serendipitously in the ignition, ready for them to travel west. That they managed to for about 80 miles before serendipity turned to something more serious with Jackson furiously firing at them from his lumbering Cadillac DeVille. It had borne some serious damage from falling debris at the site of the explosion, and now his honor and his sense of betrayal were battling for top billing in a long list of reasons why he should kill the UNCLE agents and his former lover.

Illya managed to keep Jackson at bay until a bullet found his shoulder, causing an immediate spasm of pain and a swift turn over a guard rail and into what passed for a dry river bed. An arroyo that hadn’t seen rain for months became the ditch in Napoleon’s version of their tragedy, but the flat bottom saved them all from more serious damage.

The same couldn’t be said for Jackson. His fury literally blinded him as he flailed inside his maimed vehicle and he slammed into a telephone pole, ending his career and all future aspirations.

They had left Vegas at one o’clock in the morning, and now they were themselves lumbering through the desert, one step at a time in heat that hadn't diminished during the night.

“I suppose it could be worse, although not by much. At least we’re all still in tact... mostly.” Napoleon looked over at Illya. The Russian was listing a little but he’d had worse injuries; they both had. Imogene looked a little worse for wear, her hair ravaged by her travels and the night air.

Napoleon took a little bit of a beating as their car landed, but he didn’t sense that anything was broken, just bruised. Mostly he was tired, and the thought of walking the next few hours in search of a vehicle or a destination... that worried him a little. Illya had fared all right so far but it was only a matter of time before his wound became either infected or blood loss hindered him.

“Aren’t there usually trucks on this route? I can’t believe we haven’t seen any traffic.” Solo wasn’t a westerner, but the highway between Vegas and Needles was a corridor that connected to other major thoroughfares. Surely someone would come along and...

“I see headlights! I see something...” Imogene was suddenly very animated, the expectation that now, finally, there would be some relief from the walking and the discomfort of her broken heeled shoes was giving her renewed hope for her escape from Jackson. Illya was staring into the distance, hoping that it wasn’t another THRUSH in hot pursuit. Even a low level thug like Jackson Bruni would merit some type of retribution for his demise. He didn’t feel like another round tonight though, his shoulder hurt and he knew there was a limit on how long he could go on foot.

“Perhaps it is one of those big trucks you mentioned, Napoleon.” He sounded more wistful than hopeful, his partner noted the strain in his voice and hoped fervently that whoever was driving would be a good samaritan and give them a ride. Minutes seem to hang as the trio of travelers waited on the approaching vehicle. There was no place to hide, so standing on the side of the road like the weary souls they were was as good as anything else they might try. The lights began to loom larger as the vehicle approached until finally they could see the outline of the big rig, its engine rumbling against the stark emptiness of the surrounding desert.

The driver saw three forlorn looking figures in the glare of his headlights. He began to shift down, slowing from seventy-five miles per hour, down... down...

“He’s stopping for us! Oh thank God, I thought I was gonna die in this awful place.” Imogene was ecstatic, and immediately began to primp and prepare to meet a man who might just be her answer to a better life. He was at least going to be the transportation. Illya and Napoleon both instinctively reached for their guns, no need to let down their guard just yet. As the big truck pulled to a stop, the air expelled from his brakes let out a hiss that reverberated through the solemn quiet of the desert night.

A door was pushed open from within to reveal a red headed young man in a polo shirt and blue jeans. He was clean cut by all appearances and not someone either agent recognized as a THRUSH operative.

“You three look like you could use a ride. Hop in, I’ll take you as far as I’m going.” The invitation didn’t need a second call as the trio climbed into the welcoming cab. It had a compartment behind the seat, something that invited the Russian in a compelling way.

“Uh, am I getting into something that I’ll regret? That looks like blood on your shirt.” He looked directly at Illya as he said the words. Napoleon caught his breath and then decided there was no point denying their occupation. They needed this transportation back to civilization, and Illya needed a doctor.

“We are agents for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, an international agency for ...’ The driver had a big grin on his face as he nodded in accompaniment to Napoleon’s speech.

“Are you familiar with our organization?” Napoleon and Illya sometimes ran into people who had heard of UNCLE, but it wasn’t commonplace.

“Not only am I familiar with it, my cousin works for you guys. She lives in New York now, but she actually tried to recruit me; says I’m just the kind of man you’re looking for.”

Now he had everyone’s attention. What were the odds? Then again, they had just left Las Vegas.

“So, who exactly is your cousin? Perhaps we know her.” Napoleon knew most of the women in New York’s headquarters, this would be an interesting story for one of the girls should he live to tell it.

“She’s pretty new in the position she has there, but I think she said she’s the first woman to take the job.” In unison both men replied...

“April?”

Their newly acquired chauffeur smiled a broad smile that suddenly reminded them of their new female agent. Why was she telling her relatives about the Command, and trying to recruit?

“Yeah, April Dancer. You know her then, isn’t she something?” Napoleon nodded, his calculations of the odds of this happening still bouncing around in his brain.

“Yes, yes she is really something...’ A quick look at Illya and Napoleon decided to just get to their destination and not dwell on what Miss Dancer might have said or not said.

“So, how far can you take us on this road?” They needed to get to the L.A. office, and that seemed a long way off at this point.

“I’m heading for Riverside, but if you need me to I’ll drive you into Los Angeles. This is my father’s rig and I’m delivering it... no cargo except you.” That smile again and a definite family resemblance.

“Los Angeles is where we need to be. We are in your debt. If you are really interested in applying for a position with UNCLE, perhaps I can put in a word for you. As it happens I’m April’s boss.” That was as much information as would be shared this night, but the look on the young man’s face held some enthusiasm for the idea.

“My name is August Dancer, by the way. Auggie for short.” Illya cocked his head to one side in spite of being nearly unconscious.

“Are all of you Dancers named for the months on a calendar?” It did seem peculiar to the Russian, but then so much of America continued to raise questions for him.

Auggie laughed, it was a question he’d answered all of his life. “April is the third girl in the family. Our dads...’ Yeah, they got that.

“Well, our dads are three brothers, and each of them fell for a different calendar girl back during the war. They decided that they would name their kids after their favorite month, and luckily for the girls they weren’t November or December.” Everyone chuckled at that, inwardly grimacing at the methods people used to assault their children with odd names.

“So, I have cousins named April, May and June, although May is the oldest and April the youngest of the three.” Napoleon was still wondering about August and how he got his name.

“So, who decided to add you to the calendar?” You could not have this conversation and neglect to ask that question. Auggie rolled his eyes, obviously reciting this for what must seem like the millionth time.

“It’s a fluke, really. My mother is Italian...’ at the quizzical look on Illya’s face he added... “Northern Italy, with light skin and blue eyes. Anyway, she wanted to name something that recalled her heritage, so...”

“Caesar Augustus. Your family certainly has a knack for creativity where names are concerned.” Solo was tired, and something about this conversation was making him downright sleepy. He had a conversation in mind for April when he returned to New York.

“Right, only she took pity on me and shortened it to August, to sort of fit in with the girls.”

Illya was hanging on to his last ounce of energy, and having heard the story he decided it was safe to lie down and sleep. Imogene had remained uncharacteristically quiet during this entire interlude, and that niggled at the blond for just long enough to delay his rest.

“Imogene, where will you go when we get to Los Angeles? UNCLE can probably give you a room for the night, if...” She was shaking her head.

“No, thank you but no. I’ve had quit enough of intrigue and spies and mad Italians... oh, no offense Auggie, but...” Auggie laughed and turned to look at the young woman named Imogene.

“It’s all right, you don’t need to explain. I can drop you off somewhere.” Imogene did have one place where she could go. One last safe place on the planet.

“My mom lives in Barstow. Do you think...?” Auggie’s expression changed to something akin to compassion.

“I’d be happy to deliver you to your mother. Just me give the address and we’ll head there first.” A tear slid down the former showgirl’s cheek at this small act of kindness from a stranger. She had been surrounded by mean spirited, egotistic creeps for so long she’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be around people who were kind,

“Thanks Auggie. Really, thank you.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, causing a flush of pink to rise there. Napoleon took note of the young man’s character; perhaps April was right about August Dancer.

It was rush hour by the time the big rig reached L.A’s UNCLE Headquarters. After dropping off Imogene the men had travelled in companionable silence into Los Angeles. Illya slept most of the way while Napoleon napped sporadically, waking to chat for a while with the amiable man at the wheel. By the time they reached their destination Illya was groaning from his discomfort. Napoleon had alerted the office to have Medical standing by and so they were. To say they were surprised when the two New York agents were delivered in a gleaming big rig truck would be an understatement. Solo and Kuryakin were known for their outlandish tactics and extraordinary good luck, but this would fuel office talk for some time.

Napoleon saw to it that his partner was taken into medical and spoke with the doctor, giving him details such as the time elapsed since the injury. All the while Auggie waited, anxious to know that Mr. Kuryakin was going to be all right, and interested in the offer Mr. Solo and made about putting in a good word. When Napoleon returned to the waiting area he sat down beside Auggie and took a deep breath. The room was empty save for them and the quiet hum of the air conditioner seemed a welcome break from the drone of the open road.

“Auggie, you’ve done us a great service. I meant what I said about giving you my recommendation should you, well if you’re interested in joining UNCLE.” That brought a smile to the young man’s face. It had seemed far fetched when April first confided in him about her job, but now he could see himself doing what these men did. He knew there was more, of course, he would consider it very carefully.

“I appreciate that Mr. Solo. When I got out of school, after working so hard at it, I don’t know I ... well, I just didn’t know what to do with my life. You and Mr. Kuryakin, and April... you help people. I know it’s dangerous, but if you save lives and help keep the world safe then it’s worth it, isn’t it.”

Napoleon thought of his partner, undergoing surgery again for yet another bullet wound. Was it worth it? He hadn’t asked himself that question in some time, and now here was some young, idealistic fellow telling him that it was worth it, that what he did mattered.

“You know Auggie, I think it does matter, and it does make a difference. I don’t know if Section II, what we do, is where you’ll fit in, but UNCLE is a big place and the opportunities are unlimited.’ Wow, he sounded as though he meant it. He did mean it.

“What exactly was your major in college? Maybe i can steer you in a specific direction.” Auggie seemed to hesitate before answering. He’d spent most of his life making apologies for being smarter than everyone else. Maybe now he would have an opportunity to put his brain to work for something good and worthwhile.

“Chemistry, with a minor in micro-biology. You think there might be a place for me, Mr. Solo?” With as much control as he could muster, Napoleon replied in the affirmative. Auggie was just what UNCLE needed, and to think it all happened on this road.

By early evening plans had already been made for the trip back home. Tomorrow they would in the air and heading for New York. Napoleon shook his head at the absurdity and outlandish, unbelievable odds involved for them to be picked up by April’s cousin.

“What are you shaking your head about, Napoleon?” Illya was cleared for travel now that the bullet was out of his shoulder. His partner looked up at the intrusion on his thoughts.

“I was just thinking about ... August Dancer. Illya, what are the odds on that happening?”

“Do you mean the odds of us being on the road at the same time he was, or of him being related to April and being on that road, or ...” Napoleon held up his hand. Maybe the pain killers were making him like that.

“Illya, the odds of us being stranded on a desert highway and being picked up by the cousin of our newest Section II agent. It’s incredible. Mr. Waverly was speechless when I reported in.’ He paused ... “Of course he may have been speechless because of Miss Dancer’s breach in personal security. She really shouldn’t have filled August in on so much, I suppose.”  Napoleon wondered if there would be any type of discipline regarding this.

“I think the odds are astronomical, but then again...’ The patient yawned, wide and long.

“Long odds are what we count on. If it were a matter of easy, predictable circumstances then anyone could do what we do.”

Napoleon was a little surprised. This was as close to admitting luck played a part in their work as he’d heard the Russian express.

“You mean we have good luck?” Illya nodded.

“And bad. Serendipity, luck... call it whatever you like. Sometimes we get a helping hand and end up on the winning side, even when someone insists on starting a fire at the most inoportune time.' He didn't see the smirk on napoleon's face.

"By the way, what time is our plane tomorrow?” Just like that the conversation was over and Illya slid back down into his bed for the rest of his night’s slumber.

“Good night, tovarisch.” Napoleon bid him adieu and headed out to the lobby and a waiting Section III agent who would escort him to his hotel room.

It was good to have a ride, he didn’t much feel like driving in L.A. traffic.

Back in Riverside a young man dreamed in ernest of a different life.

 

 


End file.
